


Magic in the Blood

by eternalshiva



Series: Dragon Age: Alternate Universe - Avaar [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalshiva/pseuds/eternalshiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He woke that morning, whispers crawling along his skin from the tremors of the fade. The spirits were humming his name and that of another clan – Skyhold. The spirits were troubled, they spoke to him in his dreams. At first they had been quiet, but now, their words tumbled and collided with urgency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic in the Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Dunno if I will keep going with this, my muse had a hiccup and I had to write a thing. Depends on the interest, I guess. Permission granted from the artist to write!

_[Picture from forsakenvow](http://forsartenvow.tumblr.com/post/124155353994/based-on-this-as-well-as-the-painted-look-from) _

_There's powerful Magic in the blood of our child, Maric._

His own mother’s words had sealed his fate the day he was born, the day his skin kissed the bitterness of winter in Griffonhold and led him to the path of Augur. He was not made to lead the clan, like his father the Thane – Maric, Dragon Blood.

Alistair was a powerful mage in his own right.

Trained by his mother, the _former_ Augur, into the arts herself –spirits welcomed him as he did them and his Clan respected his words. His messages from the beyond were always accurate, clear and never once did he lead the clan astray.

He woke that morning, whispers crawling along his skin from the tremors of the fade. The spirits were humming his name and that of another clan – _Skyhold_. The spirits were troubled, they spoke to him in his dreams. At first they had been quiet, but now, their words tumbled and collided with urgency.

_Take them in, they will lead to greatness – take them, do not let them fall into the depth of oblivion, the Lady of the Sky demands it!_

**_Take them_ ** _._

Alistair shivered, the pull of the message strong enough to make him wake early, even before the sun had time to greet the morning. He sat up in his bed, sleep still lingering when he stepped out of his blankets naked. He dressed, layers of furs and leather wrapped and draped his body loosely. They were tinted in blues, whites with subtle browns to show his worship of the Lady of the Skies. Before taking the shaman’s staff, he placed the bleached bones of a bear skull over his head, the dangling sounds of spiritual stones chimed softly. They were something he was familiar with, having heard them all his life and it comforted him.

He quickly used his fingers to brush his red hair into place, tucking the lose strands away before smoothing out his beard. He took in a breath, the spirits still pressing against his thoughts.

_Take them, hurry, tell your father to take them in!_

“Thank you for your warning, Spirits. I will see to your request immediately – fear not.” He spoke the words with kindness before he turned towards the Veil Fire, bowing and praying to the spirits that lingered there, waiting for him to act. The buzz of their words still felt heavy with premonition.

He stepped out of his hut, magic flowed freely from his body as the cool air greeted his tongue and lungs when he breathed it in. It felt sticky with winter and just like the sound of his boots crunching against the freshly fallen snow.

The village paths were empty – fires still smoked in the hearths where the people of Griffinhold still slept warm in their beds. He smiled, their Gods had been good to them – no wars, no agreements broken, and they even had a successful marriage this year.

His gaze wandered, the snow was uneven with fresh tracks heading up the hill – he could see the boot prints of the Clan warriors on the outskirts of the small group that was led into the village. They were headed up towards the Thane.

His father would be suspicious of the group -- refugees with no Clan to call their own were just extra mouths to feed. Maric turn them away, if he knew his father well enough – with his mother away, Alistair was the only one to council him until she returned.

He pressed on, hurrying his step.

Moments later, he found himself at the entrance of his father’s hut – Maric was already seated on the Throne, leaning comfortably while he listened to the woman speaking of their troubles.

“—we would like to make an oath, pledge our loyalty to Griffinhold.” She paused, trying to find the words. “Skyhold, our home is no more, and our survivors have nowhere to turn to, none other we wish to pledge ourselves to.”

“What happened?” Maric noticed Alistair, his gaze acknowledging him before focusing on the group again. The woman that spoke was young, from what he could tell, her black hair pulled tightly back under the hood of her coat. She sounded exhausted.

“Winter storms happened. It took the Hold and devastated us. Our clansmen were killed in avalanches from the surrounding mountains and we had to abandon it to save the remainder.”

“What of your dead?” Alistair spoke softly but she stiffen with surprise, not expecting another person to be present with the Thane and his guards.

“I will see to them once we’re settled, I will perform the rites and try and set the souls free.” She assured them, she didn’t turn away from the Thane to look at him.

“Try to?” The Thane seemed displeased with her answer. She fidgeted, expecting the scrutiny.

“They’re too deep under the snow and spring rarely comes long enough for it to melt. Skyhold is too high in the mountains to free their bodies for the birds to carry their souls to the Lady of the Sky.” She buried her face into her hands, rubbing her face to chase away the grief. Alistair could see them trembling. He wasn’t sure what it was from – grief or fear?

He took notice of her clothing, the leathers and furs were the same as his, if not a deeper colour and it told him a lot of things. If she could perform the rites, it meant she was a priestess, a Sky Watcher.

Alistair smiled, clearing his throat.

His father turned his attention to him and raised a brow, waiting. “Speak, Shaman. What brings you here this early?” His father made little effort to hide his curiosity.

“If I may,” Alistair tapped his staff lightly against the earth when he took a step forward, the stones jiggled against the wood. “The Spirits foretold of their plight to me this early morn and I must urge you, Thane, to take their request.”

“The Spirits?” His father understood the implications of refusing those of the Beyond.

“Yes, they said that they would lead us to greatness; that we have to take them into the Clan.” Alistair gripped his staff, the warmth of magic keeping the cold at bay from his fingers. He glanced at the leader of the small group and she still hadn’t turned to look at him yet. He stepped towards his father, who had closed his eyes in consideration of his son’s words.

The request was heavy, twelve more mouths to feed, twelve more people to shelter and keep clothed. Alistair knew what that could mean for the clan. He hoped they were as capable as they looked.

“The woman here,” Alistair pointed to the leader, “is a priestess. She could train under Wynne and learn our ways. If Wynne sees her fit, she could take over the Sky Watchers. Pledged with an oath to us and with the required offering given to the Lady…”

The Augur trailed his words, his father nodded in agreement. Not that he had a _choice_ , really. The Spirits will had to be abided to or they would lose much more than just words in a storm.

“Would you consider an oath to the Sky Watchers, Priestess?” The Thane asked, words low and heavy with consequence. She did not hesitate.

“Yes, I would bind my will and my faith to Griffonhold with such an oath.” She bowed deeply, grateful for the positive outcome. Alistair felt the warmth of sincerity behind her words and it made him smile.

“Very well. We will make preparations for your oaths and we will take your clan into our own.” The Thane dismissed them, leaving his throne to return to his own bed. The sun was still hiding behind the mountains. The woman turned towards Alistair, she pulled down her hood and he found himself… _breathless_.

Her grey eyes sparked with the strangest shimmer of green that brought a million questions to his tongue. Her skin looked like it was kissed by the sun, and freckles adorned her nose teasingly. The curls of her hair didn’t go unnoticed, the depth of its colour reminding him of raven feathers.

“Thank you uhm…?” She bowed slightly, squinting her eyes with a question he understood.

“Oh, uh.” Alistair lifted his mask, and he noticed the way her eyes widen in surprise, he saw her eyes looking him over as though she was seeing him again for the first time. He felt his cheeks warm with a flush. “I am Alistair Ar Fiona O Griffonhold, Shaman to our clan.”

“I am Octavia An Tress O Skyhold… well,” she laughed, blushing with her mistake, “ _O Griffonhold_ I should say, Priestess to the dead.” She smiled at him, hand resting on her hip.

Alistair chuckled, his gaze lingering on her before he turned away, motioning her to follow him. “I won’t hold your slip of the tongue against you, Octavia. Come, I will take you to Wynne.”

He heard her hum in agreement before walking up to him quickly and his skin tingled, _burned_ when her hand brushed against his while he moved his staff out of the way.

Magic? No, _something_ else.

He swallowed his questions and led the way.


End file.
